


may we remember who we are

by ace_verity



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - It's a Wonderful Life Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Post-Season/Series 01, Temporary Character Death, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_verity/pseuds/ace_verity
Summary: It hits Karen one night out of the blue, the realization that they’d be better off without her.---AnIt's a Wonderful LifeAU.
Relationships: Karen Page & Ben Urich, Karen Page & Kevin Page, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	may we remember who we are

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Snow" by Sleeping at Last.  
> I tagged this with the Major Character Death warning, but to clarify: the character deaths mentioned are hypothetical and temporary. I'm an avid supporter of happy endings.
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies - I don't own these characters (Marvel does) or _It's a Wonderful Life_.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It hits her one night out of the blue, the realization that they’d be better off without her.

She doesn’t know what, exactly, sparked the sudden understanding. They’re together at Josie’s, having a drink to celebrate another successful case, laughing and talking about nothing. It’s become a habit — the three of them, together, at Josie’s or gathered around the conference room table over Chinese takeout or working in comfortable silence at their desks, content to share the space and the quiet. And tonight is no different: Matt’s sipping his beer, hiding a smile as Foggy excitedly recounts a Columbia Story — this one apparently focusing on Matt’s seemingly inhuman ability to attract gorgeous coeds like moths to a candle.

“ — and I _swear_ , Karen, he’s got, like, at least four girls swooning over him at this point —”

“Foggy, she doesn’t need to hear this,” Matt breaks in, still smiling. “Don’t corrupt her more than you already have.”

“ _Me?_ Corrupt our guileless secretary? _Never!”_

Karen laughs, but Foggy’s words ricochet around her head, and she doesn’t hear the rest of the story. _They think I’m innocent_ , she thinks. _Sweet, and naive, and innocent_. It burns like bile in her throat, and her hands itch, remembering the weight of a gun. 

Even after they’ve seen her safely into a cab, she can’t keep her thoughts from spiraling deeper, darker. Every minute she plays the mild-mannered secretary, making coffee and filing papers, she’s lying, betraying the trust of the two kindest people she’s ever known. And she’s endangering them — if Fisk ever discovers what she's done, she has no doubt that he’d tear the fragile life she’s built to the ground, piece by piece, just like Wesley had promised. 

_They deserve better_ , Karen thinks, eyes filling with tears as she fumbles with her keys.

The thought echoes in her head as she moves mechanically through her apartment, pulling on an old t-shirt and worn flannel pants, not bothering to brush her teeth or wash her face before falling into bed.

_They’d_ _be better off without me_ , she thinks, and then she’s asleep.

\---

When she opens her eyes, there’s someone sitting on the edge of her bed.

She’s paralyzed for a second, then scrambles for the nightstand, for the gun tucked between a _National Geographic_ and a bottle of ibuprofen in the top drawer, but freezes when the person turns to look at her.

It’s impossible.

It’s Kevin.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, a crooked grin on his face, looking exactly as she remembers him. 

Karen’s speechless; she reaches out blindly, and his hand catches hers. A sob builds in her throat, because he’s _alive:_ solid, and warm, and real. 

“Hey, Kare,” he says, like it’s just another morning at the diner seven years ago.

She flings herself upright and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. She holds on for several moments, and when she finally pulls away, his face is serious. 

“I have to show you something.” His eyes are intent on hers, and she nods and lets him pull her to her feet. He hands her a coat, and she puts it on without question. Kevin offers her his hand, and she takes it —

— and they’re standing in a corridor lit by fluorescents and smelling of antiseptic. A hospital — the basement, judging by the absence of windows. Movement catches her eye: a door opening, with a sign above it that reads, _Morgue ._

Foggy and Matt step out into the hall, faces grim. 

“Something about this doesn’t add up,” Matt’s saying to Foggy in a low voice. “She’s framed for murder —”

“Whoa, hold up, we don’t know that she was telling the truth —” 

“ — she wasn’t charged, she had counsel who believed her and took her case pro bono, and then she hangs herself in her cell? It’s not right, Fog.”

Karen realizes with dawning horror that they’re talking about her. “Matt?” she calls out. “Foggy?”

But they continue walking, apparently deaf to her calls, and disappear around the corner.

Karen rounds on Kevin. “What the hell is this? Why do they think I died?”

“Because you did, in this world,” Kevin replies matter-of-factly. “You think that the world would be better off without you, and I’m here to show you that you’re wrong.”

Before she can formulate a response, he takes her hand again — 

— and they’re at the Bulletin, and Ben’s there, whole and _alive_. Karen opens her mouth to say his name, starts to step forward, but Kevin’s hand tightens on hers.

“He can’t hear you.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be stupid, he’s right there — Ben!”

Ben doesn’t even blink; he just sighs and starts rifling through a stack of files, completely oblivious.

Just like Matt and Foggy had been.

Kevin looks past her out into the bullpen, and when she follows his gaze, she sees Fisk on television, announcing his intention to transform Hell’s Kitchen. Her throat goes dry at the sight, and she whips her head around to look at Ben. 

He barely spares the broadcast a glance before turning back to his work.

“Why — why isn’t he upset? He _knows_ about Fisk, he has to —”

“He doesn’t.” Kevin’s voice is quiet. “If you had died in that cell like Fisk wanted, the Union Allied file wouldn’t have been exposed, and Ben would have been stuck writing about subway renovations in Queens.”

She latches onto that — a bit of hope. “But he would have lived, right? He — he died _because of me_ , so if I had — if I never—”

Kevin looks at her intently. “Karen, you were the one who convinced him not to take the editor job Ellison offered. Without you pushing him to uncover the truth about Fisk, he'll accept it without a second thought. And when he finally starts putting the pieces together about Fisk, his hands will be tied. He’ll spend the rest of his career mired in guilt, wishing he’d have seen it sooner.”

“But at least he would have lived.”

“And what kind of life would it have been, to Ben Urich? Knowing that he could have done something, but was too late? And you know he'll try to get the truth out there. That’s his job, his passion. But with Fisk running the city, do you think it will take much to silence a lowly newspaper editor? Early retirement if Fisk was feeling generous, but if not…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; Karen knows what he's saying — she’s been on the other side of Fisk’s wrath. But she presses on.

“There would have been a chance, at least.” She’s looking at Ben again, at the framed headlines on his walls, the picture of Doris on his desk. 

“Karen. He was miserable. He knew his talent was being wasted. And when you came to him, you gave him new purpose, and you helped him expose the biggest conspiracy of the decade. That purpose, that _pride_ , and the time he spent mentoring, you — you really think he wouldn’t do it all over again, if given a second chance?”

She shakes her head minutely. “I don’t know, Kev.” 

But she remembers what Doris had told her at the funeral. _We never got around to having kids… but if we had, I think he would have wanted one like you._

She doesn’t know. 

“Time to go, Kare,” Kevin says from beside her, taking her hand. 

She looks around the office one last time, looks at Ben — _alive_ — for what she somehow knows is the last time, and whispers, “Goodbye.”

The world tilts, and they’re in the offices of Nelson and Murdock, right in the entryway. It’s dark outside, and the only lighting comes from the unearthly yellow glow of streetlamps outside the windows. Karen hears footsteps approaching: Matt’s coming up the stairs, moving stiffly. She gasps softly at the sight of him — his face is red and bruised, and she can see the shadow of a black eye from underneath his glasses. She looks back into the office and sees Foggy moving toward the door, files under his arm, and she remembers this scene — she was there. It was the night that she would have killed Wesley, when Foggy had startled her in the office, when Foggy and Matt had run into each other in the hall as Foggy was leaving.

The scene repeats in front of her as Matt enters. Foggy averts his eyes and keeps walking, brushing past Matt. After Foggy leaves, Matt visibly sags with defeat and exhaustion. Karen’s struck by the unthinkable idea that maybe, without her, they don’t get over whatever fight had driven them apart.

As if he’s read her mind, Kevin speaks up. “They reconcile eventually. But it takes longer — you’re not there to connect them, and they’re not nearly as far along with the Fisk case as they would have been if they’d had you. They haven’t grasped the scope of it yet, so it’s a few weeks before they realize that they need to work together to take him down.”

Karen wants to take this as good news — at least Matt and Foggy make peace eventually — but the look on Kevin’s face gives her pause. 

“But?” she prompts, dread creeping over her. She casts another look at Matt hunched at his desk, beaten and weary, and then Kevin’s hand closes around hers —

— And they’re standing on a sidewalk a few blocks from the office and across from Clinton Cemetery, next to a newsstand. Kevin nods his head toward the papers. The headlines boldly proclaims, _Fisk Enacts Campaign to Revive Hell’s Kitchen_ , with the date marked as December 12th — weeks after she’d killed Wesley.

But he’s in the picture below the headline, standing in the background over Fisk’s shoulder, and her throat constricts at the sight. She sees him bleeding out in her mind’s eye, and she’s not sure which image is worse: his death, or his continued life, captured on the front page of a newspaper. 

Kevin nudges her, bringing her back to reality, in time for her to look up and see a funeral procession making its way through the cemetery, stopping at the crest of a hill not far from where Ben had been buried. 

She whips her head around, staring at Kevin, but his face betrays nothing. “Kevin, please,” she begs, her voice hoarse. “Don’t make me see this.”

He simply shakes his head and begins crossing the street. She wants to run, to scream, to _escape_. _Wake up,_ she tells herself. _It’s just a nightmare. Wake up_.

But she can’t. 

She has no choice but to follow Kevin across the street and through the cemetery. They stop a hundred yards from the graveside. It’s close enough for her to study the faces of the mourners, and she realizes, tears flooding her eyes, that she recognizes them from pictures Foggy’s shown her.

It’s the Nelson family, and Foggy is nowhere to be seen.

“God, no,” she whispers, and looks at Kevin. “Is he —” 

She can’t say it.

“Wesley had been keeping an eye on them from the start,” he says softly. “Ever since they took you on as their client, even after you — died. He knew they were onto Fisk, and when it became clear that they posed a threat — well, he had the threat eliminated. The apparent suicide of a secretary-turned-murder suspect in police custody didn’t even make the paper, so why would the deaths of two lawyers in a tragic accident raise any suspicions?”

Her cheeks are wet with tears now, and she presses the back of her hand to her mouth, choking back a sob. “Matt — Matt too?”

Kevin leads her off the path a few feet, stopping before a patch of freshly turned earth, new enough that the headstone hadn’t yet been placed. There’s just a simple marker next to the site, printed with a name. 

_Matthew Murdock_. 

Karen sinks to the ground, vision blurred by tears. She touches the dark earth, muddying her fingers. “Oh, Matt,” is all she can say.

She doesn’t know how long she stays there, crumpled on the ground, but she finds herself standing again eventually, Kevin’s hand resting on her back. She leans against him and asks, “Can we — can we go see Foggy?”

Her voice breaks on his name, and Kevin nods and walks with her.

The graveside service has apparently ended, with only a few mourners still standing around the grave. The casket has been lowered, covered in pink carnations. A few carnations remain in an urn next to the grave, but when Karen reaches out, her hand passes through the stem. She pulls back and looks up to see that the only people still standing there are Foggy’s parents. Mrs. Nelson buries her head in her husband’s shoulder; she sobs openly, and raw grief is written across Mr. Nelson’s face. 

Karen tears her eyes away. She’s seen that grief before, and she never wants to witness it as long as she lives. Tears form in her eyes once again. Matt gone, and Foggy too — she can’t bear it.

“They would have helped so many people,” Kevin says from beside her. “But they couldn’t have done it without you. Do you understand now? They need you as much as you need them.”

“Take me back,” she begs. “Please, Kevin, I can’t — I can’t — I understand, I do, just _please_ —” She grabs his hand, holding tight —

— And they’re in her apartment again, like nothing had happened. Kevin lets go of her hand and steps back, studying her for a moment, before pulling her into a tight embrace.

She holds on, savoring it, and they stand like that for a long, long time. There’s a thousand things Karen wants to say — _I’m sorry_ , and _I wish I’d never tried to drive that night_ , and _forgive me, please, I’d do anything to have you back_. 

But she settles for “I love you,” spoken quietly in the darkness as a siren wails in the distance and a baby cries in the apartment below. He simply tightens his arms around her in response. She’s missed him so much that it aches, and when they break apart, it feels like losing him all over again. 

“You’re needed here,” Kevin tells her. “You’re important, and loved. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t,” she promises, raw and completely honest, and he smiles, radiant and crooked just like she remembers —

— And she gasps awake in her bed. She’d thrown the blankets off some point in the night, and she shivers in the chill. The clock reads 2:57, and the streetlight casts a glow through her window. 

In an instant, it hits her. She remembers everything: Kevin, and Ben, and Fisk on TV, and a December graveyard, and she’s out of bed before she can even stop to think, grabbing her coat and keys and running out the door, only stopping to pull on a pair of sneakers. 

She runs through the streets, snow drifting gently down and sticking to her eyelashes, and doesn’t stop until she reaches Foggy’s place. She pounds on the door until she hears him muttering a litany of curses as he stumbles to the door. When he opens the door, she tumbles inside and flings her arms around him, hugging him tight.

_He’s okay_ , she thinks, and the joy of that overwhelms her for a moment, spilling out in a near-hysterical laugh.

“Karen? Are you okay? What’s going on?” Foggy’s voice is groggy and very, very confused. She finally releases him, stepping back, smiling so hard it hurts.

“Yeah, Foggy, I’m good.” She's nearly dizzy with relief, and she has time to think, _It was just a dream, thank God_ , before he says,

“Where on earth did you get a pink carnation in February? Don’t get me wrong, it’s very pretty — that’s my favorite flower, actually — but still. Kind of weird. And your hands are muddy? Did you burglarize a florist, or — Are you okay? You look kind of pale.”

She stares at the flower tucked neatly through the buttonhole on her lapel, then at her fingers, stained brown with the dirt from the cemetery.

From Matt’s grave. 

“I have to go see Matt,” she hears herself say, and Foggy’s making confused sounds that she ignores as she turns on her heel and heads down the street.

Foggy catches up to her a few moments later, out of breath and completely bewildered. “Karen, why on earth are you running through Hell’s Kitchen in pajamas at four in the morning?”

She doesn’t think he’d believe her if she tells the truth, and anyway, they’re almost to Matt’s place, so she settles on, “Bad dream. Had to check and make sure —”

“Ah,” Foggy says softly, and doesn’t say anything else until they reach Matt’s place. 

Matt answers the door without his glasses, hair adorably rumpled, looking half-asleep still. “Karen? Foggy? Is everything alright?”

Karen doesn’t answer, just collides with him — he lets out a quiet “oof” of surprise — and hugs him. After a moment, he lifts his arms up to wrap around her, patting her gently on the back. She thinks he’s having some kind of weird semi-telepathic conversation with Foggy behind her back, but she doesn’t care. They’re here, they’re alive, and so is she. 

They’ll have to talk about it later — about what exactly made Karen drag Foggy to Matt’s apartment at an ungodly hour just so that she could give Matt a hug — and she’s not sure either of them will fully buy the ‘nightmare’ story. But that’s a problem for the morning, Karen decides, as she leans into Matt’s embrace and reaches out to grab Foggy’s hand. She sees snow drifting down outside, hears church bells tolling the hour, feels dirt on her fingers and a carnation pressed against her collarbone, and she doesn’t know what happened. Most likely, she never really will. 

But she knows that she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be, and that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you think, and I'm always open to new ideas!  
> I might follow this up with a companion focusing on Matt -- same premise, different character. I'm also working on some much lighter/happier pieces, so keep an eye out for those :)
> 
> I included two references to the original movie _It's a Wonderful Life_. The church bells ringing in the final scene are a deliberate callback to "Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings." And in the movie, George Bailey finds flower petals in his pocket, reminding him of his importance to his family - so Karen gets a carnation.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. The warm welcome to AO3 means the world to me!


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